The best possible way to have spent yesterday was squelching around in a muddy field of tulips with Cat and Caroline, frozen fingers clamped around my camera, fighting with the wind for control over a red and white umbrella. And before the flowers, girlyness and pirate shirts. Afterwards, creme brulee, fondue, and Axe.
I watch myself in my rearview mirror and wonder what exactly it is that I think I'm doing. But then I realize that what I'm doing is fumbling.
I promise to stop dwelling on this soon (or, at least, to stop talking about it), but I cannot believe I managed to forget my own phone number just when I needed to remember it most. Dear Boy, please return for dancing on Thursday. I promise I'll fix it.
Cat and I are starting to recognize the regulars at Neighbors, which almost certainly makes us regulars ourselves.
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